


The British Guy

by srmarybadass



Category: FlashForward
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/pseuds/srmarybadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years before the greatest disaster in human history, Agent Mark Benford walks into a seedy bar in the heart of New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The British Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in December 2009.

It had been a long, exhausting job, and Agent Mark Benford was all too happy to be dragged along to a seedy bar in the depths of New York City. _Damn_ , but he needed a drink. Or two. Or eight… 

“Mark?” 

He looked up at his partner. “What?” 

“You were zoning. You all right?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Mark growled at Demetri, shoving the door open with a little more force than necessary. He inhaled the comforting scent of smoke and whiskey, ordering a double for himself while Demetri glanced at him worriedly. Agent Noh ordered a single beer, and would probably nurse it for the rest of the night. 

Mark downed half the glass of hard liquor in one go. The sweet burn settled his nerves and he took a minute to look around at the crowd. Dim lighting- when did he ever end up in places with good lighting?- scarred wooden tables, a sketchy bar, questionable music. One rickety pool table in a corner. And in the back, tucked away among the shadows and smoke, a table with a cluster of men around it, playing a highly illegal poker game, from what he could see. 

Demetri elbowed Mark. “We’re off-duty, right?” 

The sound of chatter filled the bar. Mark tilted his head to the side and listened to the different intonations of the voices. All he could hear for a moment was the liquor-hoarsened New York drawl, but then a different accent sliced through. British. Mark glanced at Demetri. Demetri shrugged, already eyeing a cute blonde who looked too clean for the place. Of course, so did Demetri. Mark sighed, shaking his head. He wasn’t bringing his buddy down, no. He was…he didn’t know. 

He wanted to know what the deal with the British guys was. 

Using his super-agent stealth skills- or whatever Janis called them- he edged along one wall, trying to be completely inconspicuous. His wrinkled shirt and two-day stubble helped to blend him in with the crowd, and soon he was nestled into a corner in the back, right behind the table. 

“….honestly, Simon, I can’t believe you dragged me here.” 

Mark looked up in time to see a short man with a shaved head nudge his friend playfully. “Come on, Lloyd, you’ve got to live a little.” 

“This is an absolute _dive.”_

_“Exactly.”_

Mark glanced over at the table again, clutching his drink. The shorter man with the rougher accent sat upright, unblocking his companion’s face. Mark froze, locking eyes with the handsome man for just a moment. They held the gaze briefly. The British guy looked away first. But Mark, knowing relatively well what would happen, continued staring. Sure enough, another moment later, the British guy looked up again, straight into Mark’s eyes. 

The British guy- Lloyd, his friend had called him- blushed lightly and looked away again. 

“Hey, Mark!” Demetri called from across the bar, waving him over with a fake cheerfulness. “How are you, buddy?” 

“Good,” Mark replied gruffly, ordering another whiskey and drinking it just as quickly as the last one. 

Demetri glanced over at the poker table and leaned in to whisper to Mark. “Dude, are those guys British?” 

“Yep.” 

Demetri looked over again, eyes widening slightly. “Mark, um- the tall one’s staring at you. No, no! don’t turn around, that’s so _obvious!_ ” 

Mark froze, still turned towards Demetri. “Staring…how?” 

“I dunno, just…staring, man.” 

“Staring like he knows we’re feds, or…” 

“ _Shh_! Don’t say that here!” Demetri tried to glance over stealthily. “Okay, he’s stopped staring at you…he’s ordered a glass of something…he’s _draining_ it, wow, that guy knows his way around a liquor bottle,” Demetri commented before he realized what he had said. “Oh, uh, sorry man, I didn’t mean to-” 

Mark shrugged. “Whatever.” He ordered another shot of whiskey. 

As the night progressed, Mark got steadily drunker, Demetri started humming along to the crappy music, and the bar seemed to get darker around the edges. Mark kept an eye on the British guys- just in case the poker game got out of hand, of course- and as far as he could tell, the ratlike one was plying his companion with alcohol. Mark chuckled to himself- just like him and Demetri. Except British. 

“It’d be funny if we were British,” Mark mumbled. 

Demetri blinked. “What the hell?” 

“I like British people.” 

“No, you don’t. Remember the incident in London? With the pigeons, and the tightrope, and the Thames?” 

Mark stared. “We went to London?” 

Demetri sighed and clunked his head against the wall. 

“We should be British,” Mark insisted. “You know, if we weren’t FBI agents.” 

“Okay, time for you to get some fresh air,” Demetri decided, maneuvering Mark up from the booth. He looked around quickly for an exit and saw one that looked likely. He dragged his partner over and gently pushed him into the alley. “You stay there for a few minutes. I’m going to see about the karaoke. Okay?” 

Mark grinned lazily. “It smells like crime.” 

“Okay, Mark. Okay.” 

Demetri turned and went back inside, bumping into two guys on the way. 

“Sorry, chap,” one of the mumbled, and Demetri’s ears perked up. The British guys! 

“My friend here needs a little breather,” the shorter one said by way of explanation. Demetri noticed that the drunker one was leaning on his companion. 

“Just left mine in the alley,” Demetri grinned cheerfully, ducking back inside. 

“Simon, I am totally fine,” the British guy insisted. 

“Stuff it, Lloyd,” Simon said, propping his friend against the wall with a show of strength unusual for a man of his stature. “You stay here for a little while, all right?” 

The British guy grinned goofily. “Right you are, Simon. Right you are.” 

Mark looked around awkwardly, not wanting to leave the very solid wall that he suspected was his sole reason for being upright. Simon went back to the bar and suddenly Lloyd and Mark found themselves alone in an alleyway in New York City. 

The British guy spoke first. “I’m Lloyd.” His tongue tripped over the multiple Ls.   
“Mark,” Mark offered, edging carefully closer. 

“I suppose propriety demands we shake hands.” 

Mark looked down at his hand- at the end of his arm, huh, it took him a moment to remember- and stuck it out. 

“Wrong one,” Lloyd informed him. “No, no- you needn’t fix it. I shall use my left hand as well.” He flung the aforementioned appendage out and, with a bit of bumbling and more than a few missed contacts, the two managed to shake hands. Their wedding rings clinked. 

“Do all Brits talk this pretty when they’re drunk?” Mark wondered. 

Lloyd snorted, breaking his mask of dignity. “Good heavens, no. I don’t talk like this _normally_. I am, I think, completely plastered.” 

“Me too.” 

Lloyd looked Mark up and down. “You have a- a thingy- a whatsit- on your collar- here, let me.” He stumbled forward and managed to swipe a suspicious bar peanut that had been tenaciously clinging to Mark’s shirt. The action required more coordination than he was in possession of, and it sent him tripping over his feet and falling into Mark. It was a tribute to the FBI’s training methods that Mark’s reflexes worked fast enough to catch him. The two stared at each other for a moment, Mark’s strong hands gripping Lloyd, before they both lunged at the same time and their mouths managed to meet in the middle. 

Mark gripped Lloyd’s arms even harder, not wanting to let go of the one stable thing he currently had, until he found himself being shoved up against something even harder than the Englishman in front of him. Lloyd had managed to push him into the wall. Mark’s agent-senses went off, but somehow- due to the alcohol, he supposed- they got all mixed up and pulled the British guy closer instead of pushing him away. 

Lloyd tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Someone moaned and Mark realized it was him- Lloyd tasted like the most expensive liquor the cheap-ass bar had. Greedily, Mark took every drop he could find. Lloyd responded in kind, yanking apart as much of Mark’s shirt as he could and smoothing his hands over the muscles that came from hard training and hard work. The agent took his hands away from Lloyd’s arms, running them through his hair and tugging. The British guy hissed and canted his hips forward unconsciously, grinding against Mark, and _oh God,_ the _British._

“Holy hell,” they both heard another accented voice mutter. The men quickly pulled themselves apart and Lloyd spun around and adjusted his shirt with the inherent dignity of the British. 

“Hello, Simon.” 

Demetri peered out from the doorway. “Mark?” 

Mark hid behind Lloyd. 

Demetri turned to Simon. “Man, I am not _nearly_ drunk enough for this shit.” 

“Agreed,” the shorter Brit replied crisply. “What say we both try and get a little more hammered?” 

Demetri nodded eagerly. “Yo, Mark, catch you, um, later.” 

“Be safe,” Mark automatically warned Demetri before watching the two walk back through the bar, shaking their heads. 

Lloyd turned back to Mark, and in the dim light of the flickering streetlamp, his eyes looked nearly black, his pupils blown wide with lust. 

“What say we move this somewhere else?” Lloyd proposed , raising an eyebrow in an attempt to be suave. 

Mark’s thoughts darted towards the direction of his wife, thousands of miles away, but his mind was foggy with alcohol and, Lord help him, he _wanted_. Shoving his rational thoughts aside, he gave the British guy a slow, teasing smile. 

“What’d you have in mind?” 

 

 

Agent Mark Benford woke the next morning with a pounding headache. For a brief moment, he thought he was at home, a warm body stretched out next to him. The memories from the night before came rushing back all too quickly, though. 

Oh, God, the _British._

Mark’s phone buzzed and he grabbed it hastily, flipping it open and checking to make sure it hadn’t woken his bedmate before could figure out what to do. Lloyd was still asleep, thank _God_. 

“What?” he hissed into the phone. 

“Is there a British guy in your bed?” 

Mark blinked at the rasp of Demetri’s voice. “Why? Is there a British guy in _your_ bed?” 

There was a pause. “That’s not important.” 

Mark stared at the ceiling. It was unfamiliar. “Where am I?” 

“More importantly, where am I?” 

Mark looked around. “I think I’m in a place with the tackiest carpeting I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.” 

There was silence on the other end. “Purple and orange? Kind of swirly?” 

Mark nodded before realizing nobody could see him. “Yeah. How’d you know?” 

“Step out into the hallway. But for God’s sake, put some fucking pants on or something.” 

Mark hung up the phone and got dressed as quickly as he could, grabbing anything he had left and hoping he didn’t forget anything. Stepping out into the hall, he was greeted by a disheveled and sleepy Demetri Noh. 

The partners looked at each other for a moment. 

“How about we never mention this again?” Mark proposed. 

Demetri nodded. “How about we go find some Advil?” 

On the afternoon flight back to L.A., Mark reached into his pocket for a pen and found a small piece of paper. Pulling it out, he found a business card with the name _Lloyd Simcoe_ written above a phone number. Quietly, he tucked it into his wallet, where it stayed for seven years, nestled between his Sam’s Club discount and his Alcoholics Anonymous cards. Sparing only the occasional thought for the British guy and the particularly drunken night in New York, and- true to his word- never mentioning it to Demetri, he managed to turn his life around. Sober for seven years, beautiful wife and daughter, solid job record. 

On October 16, the planet blacked out. 

On Halloween night, Mark opened the door to find a panicked father looking for his son. 

The British guy.


End file.
